Don't Fear the Reaper
by SpamWarrior
Summary: A different sort of Lilyfic, dealing with the fateful Halloween night that was to be she and James’s last. Songfic to Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper.’


Perpetrator's Note: This is a little thing I actually wrote some time ago, and posted at Fiction Alley, but I figured I should stick it up here, too. It's not at all my usual fare—it's a songfic, for one—and though re-reading it I find it more than a little melodramatic, given the subject matter that's probably only to be expected. I've modified the lyrics of 'Don't Fear the Reaper' a bit to suit my purpose (mainly because Lily's name is Lily, not Mary :-D), and I trust Blue Oyster Cult will neither be offended nor sue me.

———

The moon was large in the sky, nearly but not quite full, hanging like a piece of molten silver in the frigid October air. Stars massed like a spill of diamonds across the black velvet of the heavens, scattered points of cold white light that illuminated little of the earth below. Though it wasn't overly late the village of Godric's Hollow lay quiet, seemingly safe and secure beneath the shield of the great harvest moon. The air was nearly but not quite still, with a faint, icy breeze scuttling the dried remains of leaves down the empty streets.

Lily shivered, twitching the curtains shut—they'd had few trick-or-treaters, and by now those that had been out were surely at home enjoying their hauls. The small cottage was rosy and filled with comforting light, but a feeling of unease had weighed on her all evening, and it was showing no signs of abating.

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All our times have come

"Ruddy brilliant—we've got leftovers after all." The deep, cheerful voice of her husband floated out from the kitchen, followed momentarily by James himself, bearing a large orange bowl still half-full of candy. He set it on the small coffee table and sat down beside her on the couch, grinning and pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Well, dig in, Lil; the night is young."

Lily smiled slightly, more out of reflex than anything, but made no move to reach for the candy. Something seemed extremely...off, in some way she couldn't understand or even put her finger on. She shook herself, forcing her smile to turn genuine as she gazed fondly at her husband, at the way the light of the dying fire danced over his unruly mop of black hair and glinted off the lenses of his glasses.

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Here but now they've gone

"What's wrong, Lil?" James asked, one arm finding its way around her shoulders and drawing her close. "Look, love," he said, his tone more somber, "We've been here a month and no sign of the Old Scratch...Peter'd never go back on us, and he's the only way You-Know-Who could ever find us." He rested his head on top of hers, his free hand grabbing a box of JuJubes and expertly flicking the top off with one finger. "Now have some candy before Harry wakes up and serenades us with his nightly concert."

Lily shook her head, poking her husband in the ribs, but despite the sense of his words her unease remained—call it a sixth sense, call it woman's intuition; call it downright paranoia, but something was not right.

She shrugged, disentangling herself from James's grip and rising to her feet. "Speaking of Harry, I'm going to go make sure no goblins have gotten hold of him," she said, offering a smile and picking up a mini Snickers in hopes of placating her husband's worries (and hopefully her own in the process.) She avoided his tickling fingers and started up the creaking stairs, forcing herself not to shiver at the shadows—James was right; the Fidelius Charm was unbreakable by any means save voluntary admission of information, so why was she so worried? She didn't think she could stand James calling her 'my Moody wife' again, but she was beginning to think that maybe she really was as paranoid as the hex-happy Auror.

Harry's room was dim and warm, lit only by the faint, yellowish glow of his night-light. A soft, quilted mobile hung over his crib, and to Lily's surprise Harry himself was sitting up, his green eyes round as he stared at the moon out the window...she fought back yet another shiver; there was something unnatural about the way his wide baby eyes gazed unblinking, fixed on the huge moon as though it were some sort of talisman.

"And what are you doing awake?" she asked, her voice admonishing. She bent over the edge of the crib and picked up her son, her flaming hair falling around him as his soft baby-smell floated up to her. "Waiting for the ghosties?"

Harry gurgled slightly in response, his eyes crinkling into a baby-smile as he grabbed at her hair with one tiny hand. What little hair he had was as black and messy as his father's, and James was already prophesying his rise to Quidditch Captain of England. The feeling of his warm little form in her arms did much to calm Lily's nerves, and she grinned at him as he cooed up at her. "Well, as long as you're awake you might as well join us—I'm sure your father will let you have a little chocolate."

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Seasons don't fear the Reaper

She grabbed his blanket out of the crib and wrapped it around him, holding him close as she dug around in his dresser for a pair of booties. Setting him carefully on the changing table she pulled out a pair, one blue and one white, both apparently lefties.

"That's the last time I let James put away laundry," she murmured, shaking her head. "Your daddy's a messy man, Harry," she said, poking her son in the stomach. He swatted at her hair, making a noise that sounded rather like a giggle.

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Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain

Her fingers gently worked the first one onto his foot, but as she tugged at the little yarn laces one of them snapped clean in half. "Oh, of course," she said, holding the string up and shaking her head. "Don't you move, I'll be right back." She tickled Harry's stomach and headed into the hallway, making her way to the cabinet that held all her half-finished knitting projects (her grandmother had taught her to knit when she was a child, but she had neither the patience nor the skill to complete what she started.)

"White, white...James, honey, get the door, would you? I think we've got some stragglers!" she called absently, digging through her yarn bag and ignoring the soft rapping at the door below.

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We can be like they are

"I'm going, I'm going," James replied, clearly talking around a mouthful of candy. Lily shook her head, unable to suppress a smile—twenty-one or not, James Potter was still very much a child in many ways. She loved it about him—no matter what, he somehow always managed to hold on to a kind of boyish innocence; even with all that hung over their heads, he was unfailingly cheerful and good-natured.

She finally found what she was looking for, and had just grabbed the scissors to snip off a piece when James's voice once again floated up to her, no longer happy and amused—it was filled with a terrible, piercing panic, and as soon as his words reached her ears Lily felt all the fear she had pushed away come crashing back down on her like a tidal wave.

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Baby take my hand... don't fear the Reaper

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go!"_ There came a crash as the door slammed and then blasted in, shattering the imitation Tiffany lamp and smashing into the far wall.

"_James!"_ she screamed, dropping yarn and scissors and pelting to the head of the staircase, stumbling over the carpet and nearly falling headlong in her panic.

"I'll hold him off! _Go!" _There came another crash, followed by the slamming of a door, and with the thought of Harry piercing her heart Lily turned and fled back up the hallway, racing to her son's room and snatching him off the changing table with such a speed that she nearly overbalanced yet again, holding him to her.

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We'll be able to fly... don't fear the Reaper

Baby I'm your man...

"Oh, James, run," she whispered desperately, balancing Harry in one arm and fumbling with the catch on the window. "Please, please run."

Below her a door slammed open, and a terrible, high cackling filled the air. Lily choke back a sob, her fingers fighting harder than ever with the latch, until at last she opened it and wrenched the window up with such force it cracked the glass above it.

"You can't have them! Take me, I'm here, I'm—"

The high, cruel voice paused, before uttering two words that nearly made Lily's heart stop within her chest—she swayed, her vision darkening, and she clutched harder than ever at her son, who was by now awake and wailing. A dull thud confirmed her fears, and then the sob escaped her before she could stop it, wrenching its way free of her chest and sounding loud in the still air.

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Romeo and Juliet

Are together in eternity...

"James, no," she whispered, trembling with the force of her sobs. "No, no, no..." She shook her head, violently willing away her tears as she kicked the screen out of the window, swinging one leg over the sash. Below her footsteps were sounding; heavy, alien footsteps, and she felt her heart leap into her throat as they set one foot upon the creaking stairs.

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Come on baby... don't fear the Reaper

Lily held her breath, reaching into her pocket for her wand—the fall was too far; there was no way she and Harry would survive if she jumped, and she could not bring herself to drop her son. Hurriedly she quieted his bundled form, wishing James had not yelled for her to take Harry as she hid him under the changing table, his sobs muffled by magic. She trembled as she turned to face the door, the footsteps nearly to the top of the staircase now.

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Baby take my hand... don't fear the Reaper.

The door of the nursery blasted inward almost without warning, propelled by a jet of sickly green light that sent it smashing into the empty crib. Lily flinched, trembling so badly she could scarcely stand, but her eyes remained steady as they found and beheld the Dark Lord. She opened her mouth to say she knew not what, but when she spoke her voice was surprisingly strong and even.

"Get out of my house," she hissed, her wand shaking visibly in a hand that gripped it hard enough to crack it in half.

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We'll be able to fly... don't fear the Reaper

Voldemort paused, his red eyes flaming brighter in his chalky face. His mouth curled into an inhuman smile, and he held his own wand before him. "Out of the way, girl," he said, his eyes at once traveling to the changing table. "Give me the child."

Lily stood fast where she was, her face pale as paper and her eyes wide with fear. "Not Harry," she said, her voice cracking. "Please, not Harry..." She pointed her wand straight at his face, knowing she could do him harm but also knowing she had to save her child. Though she was not aware of it she was crying, the tears pouring silent and unheeded down her cheeks, her wand shaking so it was a wonder she didn't drop it.

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Baby, I'm your man...

Voldemort's smile faded, and he regarded her impatiently. "I said stand aside, you silly girl," he snarled, waving his wand and blasting the table to smithereens. Lily screamed, at once seizing her son and backing away, setting him in the armchair near the corner and standing before him like a shield.

"Not Harry," she whispered, her voice pleading. "Please, not Harry...take me, kill me instead, but leave him..." A sob choked off the rest of her words, but she stood straight as ever, still trembling.

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Love of two is one...

Here but now they've gone

"I said _stand aside_," Voldemort repeated, advancing on her. "Get out of the way—"

"_You get out of my house!"_ Lily's shriek halted the Dark Lord in his tracks; it was not a scream of panic but of rage, of pure, unadulterated wrath. She was once more holding her wand before her, her pale fingers trembling now from sheer fury, and her green eyes flared with a fire nearly as brilliant as that of _Avada Kedavra._ She drew a shaking breath, the fear seeming to melt from her as if carried by the breeze—this man had killed her husband, had entered her house and shattered the peace of her happy life, and she was not going to let him destroy it altogether. "How dare you," she whispered, her voice nearly a hiss. "How dare you attack a peaceful family...you have destroyed an innocent life; you've ruined my family, now _get out of my house."_

Came the last night of sadness

Voldemort regarded her curiously—never had anyone dared to defy him so; the experience was something of a novelty. His cruel smile returned. "And who, exactly, is going to make me?" he mocked, his grin filled with pointed teeth. "You? A little Mudblood witch with a useless stick of wood?" His unnaturally long hand reached out and closed over her wand, snapping it in half as he stepped closer, towering over her. "Now get out of my way."

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And it was clear she couldn't go on

Lily shivered, still staring defiantly up at him. Her fear was returning; even her wrath was unable to keep it at bay, and her fresh tears glinted in the dim glow of the night-light. Harry squirmed behind her, his wailing unheard, and for a moment black despair engulfed her as she realized there was nothing she could do.

"Not Harry," she whispered, her voice scarcely audible. "Please... have mercy..." Her hand had not released the shattered remains of her wand, but as her eyes traveled to it they caught sight of something else, a shadow at the other end of the room, and she froze.

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Then the door was opened and the wind appeared

"I told you to _stand aside_," Voldemort snarled, raising his own wand—if she would destroy her life, it was her own choice.

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The candles blew, then disappeared.

"Never," Lily murmured faintly, scarcely aware of her own words, scarcely aware even of the Dark Lord as he stood before her.

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The curtains flew, then he appeared

"You stupid girl...the child is mine; why give your life for him?" Voldemort's irritation at this little woman had grown; how foolish, to sacrifice your life for another, especially when it would not save them anyway... he raised the wand high over his head, his cruel smile widening.

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Saying don't be afraid...

Lily did not respond—she did not even seem to hear him; her wide green eyes were fixed at a point beyond him, and she no longer trembled. Her form was still now, rigid and straight and strong, and when her eyes returned to Voldemort he puzzled to find them filled with a fierce, savage sort of joy.

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Come on baby... and she had no fear

"And I told you I shall not," she hissed, her voice hard and wild and as fierce as her eyes. "My life is forfeit and I know it, but I swear to you now that you will never take Harry's—whatever you do, _you shall not have my son._"

She fought back a mad urge to laugh—she would win this and she knew it, and though it would cost her her life to do so she would see that Harry survived. For she had an ally more powerful even than the Dark Lord—it loomed behind him even as she spoke; an enormous, spectral figure swathed in black, a curved scythe clutched in one misty hand—her Death had come, and he would make certain she won.

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And she ran to him... then they started to fly

Voldemort paused—there was something in her voice he had never heard before; a terrible kind of assurance, a tone that suggested she knew things that he did not. Never had any of his victims attempted to cheat him; they knew he could see through them like glass, and that this woman would try to do so now spoke either of utter madness or utter stupidity.

"As you wish, girl," he murmured, advancing yet another step and gazing down at her with his cruel red eyes. "_Avada Kedavra."_

They looked backward and said good-bye...

Lily Potter swayed and crumpled, her hair spilling about her like a torrent of fire as she hit the ground, her son still crying soundlessly in the chair behind her. Voldemort smiled, but before he could raise his wand to finish the job and take care of the baby the stillness was broken, shattered by a low sound that made what little blood there was in his veins freeze—Lily Potter was laughing.

Before he could help himself the Dark Lord had staggered backward, his crimson eyes wide with shock for perhaps the first time in his evil reign—she was dead, he could tell simply by looking at her, yet her green eyes were clear and bright, and her laughter rang out hard and triumphant through the little room.

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She had become like they are...

She had taken his hand

Voldemort stared at her, and almost out of reflex his hand raised again, wand pointed directly at baby Harry. "_Avada Kedavra!"_ he roared, his eyes flaming in his white face, a jet of sickly green light shooting from his wand straight at the infant. He waited, searching for the feeling of the child's life as it snapped, but it never came.

"What the—" he started, but his words were cut off as all the force of his curse came hurtling back at him, blasting him across the room and sending him crashing into the half-open window. For a moment his head reeled, unable to comprehend what in hell had gone wrong, but an instant later all wonders about his curse had left the Dark Lord, for he found himself face-to-face with the one rival he knew he could never fully conquer.

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She had become like they are...

Before Voldemort's snakelike eyes stood Death, and in his right hand was the hand of Lily Evans Potter, her brilliant hair tumbled over her shoulders and her fierce eyes bright and green in her pale face. Her smile was triumphant as she gazed at him, her eyes burning into his.

"I told you you would not triumph," she whispered, her hand held tight in Death's. "You shall never have my son."

The Dark Lord reached for his wand, intent on dispelling this horrible image, but he found he could scarcely move his hand—he was weaker than he had ever been, and his fingers curled uselessly around the smooth wood. He choked slightly, unable to form any coherent words, but before he could even think of regaining his strength Death's other hand reached for him, spindly fingers cold and pale as his own. They settled on his forehead, their touch soft and cool, and it was then that Voldemort managed the last act of his true life.

He screamed.

Death turned to Lily, gazing down at her before turning again to her body. He nodded slowly, answering her questioning glance, and a moment later his cold hands had lifted her still form, leaning it against the chair before picking up Harry and placing him in her arms. His crying ceased at once.

Death turned back to Lily, extending his hand once more, and she took it willingly—she had succeeded; her son had survived. The two faced the window, a faint breeze stirring the curtains, and a moment later all that remained in the room was the still form of a woman with a baby in her arms, fast asleep under the stillness of the Halloween night. Thus did Sirius Black find them nearly an hour later, and thus would he remember Lily forever. No sign of Voldemort marred the room; his spirit had fled, to nurse itself as best it could, and the sanctity of the room remained unsullied.

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Come on baby... don't fear the Reaper.


End file.
